


Nothing

by Mockingdragon



Series: The Falls [1]
Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 14:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21147440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mockingdragon/pseuds/Mockingdragon
Summary: With his sister's death, Fuyuhiko has fallen into an empty trance. Why does nothing seem to matter anymore? There is nothing to focus on but avenging his family. And in walks Junko Enoshima...This is the first chapter of a series depicting new versions of how the Ultimate Despairs were broken.





	Nothing

They finally brought her into Hope’s Peak just as she always wanted. Past the iron gates, with crowds of students staring at the Ultimate Little Sister. She hadn’t wanted to be covered by the thick canvas of a body bag. Up the stairs to the fifth floor and the cold, human-sized shelves hidden behind the science equipment.

It was totally normal, they told him, trying not to tug their collars and fidget with their keys. It didn’t mean anything untoward or creepy. It wasn’t really a morgue morgue. Any facility that houses so many people has a space to hold their bodies in the event of a tragedy. It wasn’t comforting and didn’t make it any easier to watch them pull out the shelf.

“Yes. It’s her, can I fucking go now?”

“Of course, Kuzuryu.” The most spineless of the adults squatted down to put his hand on Fuyuhiko’s shoulder. “We’re sorry you had to do this. But thank you for coming.”

The slap of one hand hitting the back of another cracked across the cold metal. “Get your fucking hands off me!”

“Now Kuzuryu – “

“You think treating me like I’m about to break is gonna get you in with my family? You think treating me nice is going to stop them coming after you?” His eyes gleamed with anger hot enough to boil off the tears threatening to escape them. “How about finding that fucking pervert, huh? How about not letting your Freshman get murdered!”

By then the other two faculty members had rallied in front of the first. They both looked trapped between the desire to punish their student and the desire to run away. Before they could say a word, Fuyuhiko turned on his heel and slammed the thick metal door open. The rusty clang of it closing behind him felt right. Angry, cold, final.

His fists clenched at his side and he struggled to walk. Every step, every movement, threatened the tight balance of control he held over himself. He turned a corner to somewhere, it didn’t matter where. As long as he found an empty classroom before he stopped. He already couldn’t forgive himself for the tears that streamed down his cheeks. He couldn’t survive it if anyone saw.

“Natsumi…”

As his back hit the wall and his legs slid out from under him, too many thoughts crowded into his mind. One change, one thing different, and his entire life had suddenly turned upside-down. He was now an only child. No more sibling rivalry, no more good-natured teasing. No more bad-natured pranks. No more jealousy. His little sister was supposed to take over the Kuzuryu clan when the time came. He may have had the training to be called the Ultimate Yakuza, but his talent made him predictable. One look at Fuyuhiko told his enemies all they needed to know. Natsumi was different – pretty and sly, she hid her intelligence until it was needed. She was the one the current generation mentored and doted over, and he’d hated her for it.

No more hate. Now he was the last of his cohort. There were only a few other cousins, and none with Fuyuhiko’s skill. One born blind. One who fled to England after a botched coup. No threats. It was all his now, and he’d give it up in an instant to bring Natsumi back.

“What’s cookin’, good-lookin’?”

Fuyuhiko jumped hard enough to draw blood when his head hit the bottom of the blackboard. “What the fuck!”

He was no longer alone in the fifth-floor classroom; the door must have opened and closed without his hearing it. Had he been crying for that long? How much had she seen? He didn’t know the girl standing in front of him, with the first-year uniform and the oddly wolfish smile on her face. Her pink hair was bound into fluffy pigtails and exuded the scent of expensive shampoo as she came closer.

“Bad day, huh? The worst?” She reached a hand toward him and only smiled more broadly when it was slapped away.

“Get out of here, Freshman! Don’t you know who I am?” Fuyuhiko clenched his fists tighter, until he felt the sting of his nails against his palm. A trickle of blood dripped slowly into his right eye. In this mood, he was more than ready to murder.

She stepped closer again and showed no fear. “Yeah. Fuyuhiko Kazuryu, second in line for the Kazuryu Yakuza clan. Oh…first in line,” she corrected herself with another of those smiles.

He could kill her. Why would it matter? Hope’s Peak would just cover it up and put the pink-haired girl in the fridge with Natsumi. With Natsumi, no longer smiling. With her perfect lipstick fading into flaky spots of red on her chin.

“Then you know what I’m going to do to you!” His hand was at the collar of her coat, wrapped white-knuckled into her broad red tie. He had moved too quickly for anyone to get away, and she hadn’t even tried. Her hair floated in the wind of his momentum and she stood and smiled as he began to choke her.

“Ooh…damn, that’s good. That’s it, let it out,” she hissed around the fabric constricting her throat. Fuyuhiko let go and she coughed a few times, shuddering and falling to her knees. Even when she had to look up to meet his gaze, there wasn’t a trace of fear in her. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

“Let you down?” Fuyuhiko took a step back, some of the fire of his anger ebbing away. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”

“I heard your despair.” The girl adjusted her tie and began to stand again. “It’s kind of a specialty of mine. I knew I could take some from you.”

“Take some…look, just get out of here? I’m feeling generous.” He crossed his arms and turned to face the board. The familiar, hated feeling of a blush flared into his cheeks.

Then there were hands on his shoulders, and she stood behind him. Her cheek brushed the side of his head, over the shaved designs in his buzzed hair, and she lingered in it. “I’m Junko. Junko Enoshima, of class 78. Now we know each other. You can come to me with this kind of thing.”

“Just get off!” He reared back and shook her off, and stormed to the door.

“Doesn’t it feel better, though?” Junko shouted after him, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Fuyuhiko didn’t turn around. He didn’t stop moving until he found his dorm room and locked the door behind him. But once he fell onto his bed, shoes and all, and the exhaustion began to take him, he couldn’t help answering.

Being angry at her did feel better.

***

The stairs at the entrance of the family home were taller than ever. Each step took all the energy he had and he never seemed to get any closer. Fuyuhiko was exhausted by the time he reached the imposing double doors of the old, traditional house. A pair of sculpted dragons stood on either side of the front entrance to warn enemies away. When he reached his hand toward one of them, it rattled to a pale, marble life and snapped at his hand. He drew back his fingers with a shudder and stared up at the door.

Why was he hesitating? This was home, and he belonged. With a rough glare toward the dragon, Fuyuhiko pushed the doors open. The air inside swirled with a thick miasma, a dark purplish cloud that dissipated whenever he got near, but lingered on every surface. Walking was slow and difficult, but he pushed through.

“Fuyuhiko.”

His father’s voice echoed through the halls and drew him to the main receiving chamber. Decorated with ancient paintings and imposing statues, this was where the Old Master’s subordinates and supplicants came to do their business – and where his children presented themselves for punishment.

Fuyuhiko’s nails dug into his palm as he marched forward. In front of his father’s massive chair, he stared up at the hooded eyes and waited to be addressed.

“Why have you failed your sister?”

“I didn’t fail her!” Fuyuhiko yelled before he could hold back. “I avenged her!”

“Why did you let her die?” The figure of his mother stood slightly shorter but no less imposing, tears sliding from the shadows around her eyes.

“I…I couldn’t do anything. She never listens to me!”

“Why didn’t you protect her?” The both of them boomed, and Fuyuhiko fell to his knees at their power.

“It’s over! She’s paid for it!” He drove his fist down and the hardwood beneath it splintered. The voices of his parents grew silent. “I avenged Natsumi and destroyed her murderer. What more do you want from me?!”

The purplish mist swirled closer around him, making it hard to breathe. “You must suffer the way she suffered,” said his father.

“You must earn forgiveness for your lapse,” whispered his mother.

“Fuck that!” The air pressed hard against his back, but Fuyuhiko slowly stood and held his head high. “I did everything I could do! I’ve always done everything for Natsumi!”

Both voices rang through his head, clanging like the inside of a bell. “You have not done enough. You will pay.” They echoed louder and louder each time, forcing him back down to his knees by the sheer volume. The smoke curled around his nose and mouth and Fuyuhiko clutched at his throat.

“What do you want!?” He shouted, his voice only adding to the din all around him. “You want me to die, too!?”

Bells rang out from the old shrine, the hazy wind moaned through the wooden walls, and endlessly his family repeated their cry. Soon he could only yell wordlessly in a desperate effort to make it end.

“You will pay…you have not done enough…you will pay…”

***

It took a moment for Fuyuhiko to realize it was the sound of his own outcry that had woken him. He rolled slowly from his stomach onto his back, hair matted from pressing against the pillow at the headboard. He shouldn’t be surprised by the nightmare, after everything the last week had put him through. But it was over now, at last.

Grumbling, he rolled the rest of the way out of bed and prepared himself. Even just for a phone call, he had to feel presentable to face the family. A comb through his hair, a spit of mouthwash, a button-down shirt open across his chest. Several long, deep breaths.

It would have been unfathomable to talk to them while Natsumi’s death was still unavenged. Now that Sato had paid for it, he could present himself. She was in his care, after all. His responsibility. As long as he’d failed her, he had to at least take care of her murderer.

“Pick up the phone, you wuss,” he whispered to himself, and grabbed his cell. The main telephone line in the old mansion was the first number set. As he hit the buttons and heard the tone change he could picture the classic, stand-alone black telephone sitting on its own stool in the foyer. A servant would answer and screen the call, but would know Fuyuhiko’s voice and know to pass him straight on to the head of the family. His father would try to answer with dignity, but his mother would rush to grab the old cordless extension first. She’d probably be crying by the time she said hello.

The phone still rang. Fuyuhiko’s brows furrowed. He pulled the cell away from his face to make sure the call was going through. The ringing continued. He jabbed at the cancel button and dialed again. No change, just an endless ringing. No crying mother. No level-voiced father. Not even a meek servant. He tried three more times before hurling the cell phone across the room. The edge cracked against the door with a snap that rang through the room. When the bell rang a moment later, it startled Fuyuhiko enough to jump.

  
He furiously twisted the buttons on his shirt closed and fumbled for a pair of shorts to pull over his boxers. “Just a goddamn minute!” he shouted at the door as he stomped across the dorm room. “First a nightmare and then the phone and now –“

The look on Peko’s face stopped all his complaining dead in its tracks. He had never seen those big red eyes so wide and empty. Her normally perfect braids were stringy and disheveled and even the ever-present kendo sword on her back was at the wrong angle.

He stepped aside to let her in without a word. She had her orders here at the school; she would never risk being seen entering his room without a damn good reason. Whatever had happened was worth the gossip. He walked slowly back to sit on his bed while she composed herself, one hand against the wall and leaning for stability.

At long last, she swallowed around a dry throat and spoke. “They’re dead.”

“What? Who?”

“All…all of them.” Her voice was hollow. “During the night…”

“Who, Peko? Dammit, what’s the matter with you?” Fuyuhiko stood and put a hand on her shoulder, biting back his own irritation. “You know you can tell me, right?”

She nodded bleakly and finally brought those eyes up to meet his. “The clan…the Kuzuryu clan. They were ambushed last night. No one…no one survived.”

“W-what?” His hand fell back to his side. He couldn’t look away from her. “What do you mean the clan? What do you mean ambushed? What the fuck, Peko!”

Her face never changed despite his shouting. “I received an emergency call but by the time I arrived it was too late. They took out the guard without waking anyone. And then made their way inside–“ her voice broke, and Peko brought a hand to her mouth. Fuyuhiko backed a few steps away. “I’m so sorry, sir. I contacted the branch family and burned the right papers…and then came back.”

_She’s crying._ The sight of tears rolling out of Peko’s closed eyes left Fuyuhiko frozen. He knew she had her own emotions, despite all her training and protests to the contrary, but to see them bare on her cheeks was too much._ I should comfort her._ The first chance in his life to do something for her, to try and make it better, but all he could do was slump back to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Who?” He finally asked.

Peko let out a small hiccup as she fished in the pocket of her skirt and handed him a small card. On it was printed a cartoon bear, half black and half white, with a disturbing red smile. “This was all I found. It was on…on the Old Master’s face.”

Another moment of silence. His father was dead. And his mother. After his sister. Their staff. Their guards. With only himself remaining, the branch family would swiftly take over. Fuyuhiko was skilled in many ways but he was a minor without access to the money that ran the empire. There’d be no room for him and Peko in the new order.

  
“Then they wanted us to come after them, huh?” He asked, flipping the card back and forth in his hand. Peko nodded. The fuck have I got left to live for if I don’t? “Where do we find them?”

***

Hope’s Peak Academy stood in the center of the city, surrounded on all sides by buildings, covered in windows, full of watching eyes. For meetings like this, Peko had scouted and found a wide field half an hour’s drive into the countryside. There should have been a black car with tinted windows to come pick them up outside the gates; his father had always encouraged his son to practice his skills. Instead, Fuyuhiko had to fight to keep his scarf tied and hold on to Peko’s waist as she drove a motorcycle down the streets.

  
They were the first ones there. A light wind rustled through the tall, un-mowed grass before them. Fuyuhiko straightened the scarf around his shoulders and pulled his hat down over his eyes as he watched the road.

When Peko’s hand landed softly on his elbow, he jumped and cursed. “Sorry, sir.” Peko removed her hand and turned away; he cursed himself internally for deterring her. “But you have nothing to worry about. I won’t lose.”

“I know,” he answered with an unusual catch in his throat. Slowly, very slowly, he inched out his hand to take her wrist. Peko turned back to him in surprise but allowed the touch.  
Finding the owner of the bear symbol had taken too long for either of their liking. Their investigation had begun among their enemies, then their friends among the Yakuza – many of their kind would be more than willing to swoop in if they could decapitate a powerful family. But eventually, the trail had led back to their own home-away-from-home. A Hope’s Peak freshman already feared among those who knew what lurked in the darkness of the world.

“I just don’t know why,” Peko muttered for the hundredth time. “The Ultimate Soldier should have no reason to attack the Kuzuryu clan.”

“It doesn’t matter. She gave us a reason to attack her, and that’s all I care about now.” Being honest with himself, Fuyuhiko truly didn’t want to know why. The question had floated through his head for so long and so strongly that it had lost all meaning. “Why” was only a sound: no longer a word, let alone a question.

Being honest with himself, there wasn’t much of anything that had any meaning now. He had stopped attending any classes in favor of searching for the killer, forgoing meals and sleep for revenge. To see his family’s murderer laid out before him was the only wish in his heart. Even Peko had fallen by the wayside. Peko, the steadfast, comfortable, dear presence he relied on, had been gone from his side. She had insisted on searching on her own and leaving her young master in the safety of the school. On those nights, Fuyuhiko had stretched out on the bed in his dorm and done nothing but stare at the ceiling and pray for vengeance.

She stood beside him now, and he allowed himself to squeeze her wrist before letting it drop and smoothing out his shirt to force his hands to do something different. She took a seat on a nearby tree stump and began to meditate in preparation for her fight. Mukuro Ikusaba had agreed to the standard ritual battle – either to give up her life to the Kuzuryu champion, or to defeat her and seal her victory over the entire clan. Either way, it would be over. But Fuyuhiko believed in Peko beyond anything else. Ikusaba would fall and he would leave the body here on the battlefield for vultures and foxes to feast on.

And then…?

Fuyuhiko shook the question out of his head.

“She’s coming,” said Peko. A telltale puff of dust signaled the arrival of another bike. When it was close enough to see through the grass, Peko narrowed her eyes. “There’s two.”

  
A loud squeal of excitement rang through the air, making Peko’s eye twitch. Around a curve came the Ultimate Soldier, and behind her a familiar head of fluffy pink hair. While Fuyuhiko and the two combatants approached the center of the field with the appropriate solemnity, Junko Enoshima skipped at her champion’s side.

“Hey, Baby Gangsta!” Junko grinned widely and flashed a peace sign.

“What did you just call me?” Fuyuhiko balled his fists and may have run at her, had Peko not gently put her hand in his way. “What are you doing here?”

“How could I miss this?” She draped her arms around Mukuro’s shoulders, and the soldier simply looked to her and smiled. “I never miss a chance to see my Sis work.”

Peko watched the pair of them carefully and nodded after a moment. “I see…your sister. Now it makes sense. It was both of you.”

“Both of them?” Fuyuhiko kept his gaze trained on Junko. He hadn’t thought once about the strange girl who had interrupted his mourning, but seeing her brought back all the emotions he had felt on that day.

Although her sister raised a hand and began to speak, Junko barreled over her and Mukuro fell silent. “Both of us! Well, Sis may have done most of the stabby-stabby,” she laughed. “But slaughtering the Kuzuryus? Totally my idea!”

“Show some decorum!” Peko shouted.

Mukuro met her eyes and nodded, extracting herself from her sister and walking toward the open field where the battle would be held. Junko rolled her eyes, but smoothed out her skirt and let out a soft sigh. “Fine, take all the fun out of it.”

Peko took the sword from her back and followed Mukuro, with a look back at her young master. She smiled ever so slightly – a promise. When Mukuro drew a live blade, Peko twisted the hilt of her bamboo sword and revealed the steel hidden inside.

Fuyuhiko still stared at Junko, now alone next to her. Enemies though they were, the rules of engagement allowed them to stand peacefully at the edge of the battlefield until one of their champions fell. When he finally spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “Were you planning this the whole time? From the day you met me?”

“Geez, full of yourself, aren’t you?” Junko looked sidelong toward him and a wide, thin smile spread across her face. “But yeah. Seeing you crying there, so wracked with despair…you were just intoxicating, you know.”

“You really don’t know who you’re dealing with.” Fuyuhiko’s voice was uncharacteristically soft.

On the battlefield, Mukuro and Peko faced one another and offered each other a small ceremonial bow. For one last moment, everything was still.

“You don’t get it at all. I’m the Ultimate Yakuza without any clan to lead. You’ve given me nothing left to lose.” A matching grin slid onto his face. He should be furious with her. He should be waiting to spring at her throat the moment Peko won the match. He should still have been mourning his family, still reeling inside from their loss. But inside him was nothing. He was perfect tranquility. “I’m either going to kill you right here, right now, or die trying. Maybe both.”

Her aura, her presence, was overwhelming. Her voice was softer, deeper, more controlled than he had ever heard. “That’s it…that feeling. That emptiness. That…despair…you don’t care about living anymore. You may as well be dead already. So embrace it…I’m going to bring you back to life.”

Steel sang against steel as Peko and Mukuro clashed. Fuyuhiko tore his eyes away from Junko’s smile to watch, although the combatants moved almost too quickly to see. Again and again they came together in a lock, then bounded away to take a new stance. In…out…in…out. They were in perfect sync, and it soon began to seem as though one of them was holding back.

“Ain’t she great?” Junko beamed like a proud parent as Mukuro again matched Peko’s thrust. The look on her face was calm, impassive, almost bored. By contrast, Peko’s eyes blazed and she let out a wordless yell when she came forward again. Mukuro caught her sword and darted back in her perfect dance.

Mukuro was better.

“Come on, Peko!” Fuyuhiko shouted. He knew it was pointless – Peko was already doing all she could. The fate of her master was at stake, even if she truly didn’t care about her own. The deal went both ways.

The image of his body lying in the grass, covered by Peko’s, flashed through his mind, and he felt nothing.

“Wait for it.” Junko’s pigtails fluttered in the breeze and her eyes were locked on the fight.

Something about the look in them made even the yakuza shiver. He blamed it on the wind. “Wait for what?”

Peko’s cries rang out with her strikes. The dance intensified, and both were landing blows here and there. Mukuro barely seemed to feel them; Peko grimaced and clutched the small gash on her arm.

“Not yet…” The smile twitched on Junko’s lips. “Feisty, that one.”

“What…you don’t think she’s going to give up?” Fuyuhiko laughed roughly. “Peko is barely a swordsman…she’s a sword. She won’t stop, not ever, not until she’s won.”

  
“Or lost,” countered Junko. “It wouldn’t work if she gave up.”

Fuyuhiko balled his fists and reminded himself again of the decorum demanded by his challenge. His name may no longer mean anything, but throwing his fists into Junko’s face before his champion won the day would ruin what remained of his reputation. “What wouldn’t work?”

“There’s an old saying about reeds and oaks, right? Someone who knows they’re gonna lose is a reed…she bends and bows and goes with the flow.” Across the field, Peko snarled through a trickle of blood from her cheek and bounded back toward Mukuro. “But this one’s an oak…she’s gonna stand strong until that wind gets to be too much…and then…” Junko held one hand up over her arm and tilted it like a falling tree.

“Peko…” Fuyuhiko realized how tightly he was clenching his jaw, how hard he was grinding his teeth.

“And when she realizes it, that’s when it happens.” Her eyes unfocused, staring at an image within her own mind. Whatever it was she saw made her shoulders drop in a relaxed, ecstatic stupor. “When she knows she’s lost but can’t give up, that exquisite despair.”

While Junko fell into her imaginations, Fuyuhiko went quiet. Peko was bleeding from three more places, but hadn’t even slowed down. She was, however, breathing hard, and sweat gathered at her brow. Mukuro was still spotless. For the first time, he considered that Peko might not win. In all the weeks they had searched for the assassin he had pictured his victory, avenging his family and setting it all to rest. But what if Peko lost? What if his family went unavenged, and Junko claimed his life for a prize?

  
Worse, what if she didn’t?

Fuyuhiko felt his stomach lurch as Peko took another blow, this one to the thigh. She very nearly stumbled and the fire in her eyes was flickering out.

Peko had been by his side since birth. The loss of his family had hurt him badly, and the loss of his life was a cruel prospect. But to lose her would break him. His breath came quicker and a dizziness engulfed him.

“Oh?” Junko finally turned her attention to the boy at her side. “That look on your face…it’s happening, isn’t it?”

He didn’t know for sure if he was responding to her, or only to his own thoughts. “You can’t…you can’t leave me here. Without her. I can’t do that. I’m already nothing, I can’t do it without her!”

“That’s right. You’re nothing.” Her voice dropped and she stepped closer to him. With his head bowed forward to combat the dizziness, she laid her long-nailed fingers on the back of his neck. “You don’t have a family. You don’t have a career. You don’t have an Ultimate Talent. You’ve got a sword…and pretty soon you won’t even have that.”

“So kill me. Just do it,” he said to the ground. Fuyuhiko screwed his eyes closed and couldn’t keep the tears from escaping them and pattering into the dust at his feet.

“Naaah.” Junko let go and laughed, but Fuyuhiko’s head stayed bowed. “I like this. So hopeless, so lost. If I kill you, how will you despair for me?”

Some strangled sound creaked out of Fuyuhiko’s throat. He could hear Peko shouting, hear the swords clashing, and couldn’t bear to look. The sound tried again despite the sick feeling in his chest. “P…Please…you can’t. Just kill us, there’s nothing left!”

“Or…” Junko took his chin and tilted it upward. There was no hiding his tears from her. “I make something useful out of you again.”

“Useful?” he echoed, his throat dry. The tears wouldn’t stop, but he tried to stand despite her fingers. Every ring of sword against sword made his entire body shake.

“Oh yeah. Just like her.” She forced him to look at the battle. Peko looked worse than ever. Her face was bloodied and she limped with her left leg, but worse was the pain on her face. “She’s your tool. I want one, too.” Junko turned him back to her and met his eyes with an unwavering, unbreakable gaze. “You’re feeling despair. You’re drowning in it. Your life is over; the whole world is open to your death. And you know, now, that I’m going to open it. The whole world is going to kneel to me…just…like…you.”

One long red finger tapped him on the head, and Fuyuhiko fell. His legs gave out and he landed on his knees, relishing the pain in the harsh impact. It was more than he’d felt in days. “I can…I can be…used?” He could barely see past the swirling in his mind.

“You can fight, even. For me. For us. For Despair. My Ultimate Yakuza Despair,” Junko sighed and stroked his cheek. Fuyuhiko’s head bowed. “And if you’re a really, really good boy…you can keep your sword.”

The world came to a stop around him. If he let Peko fight, she would die, and he would be left with nothing at all. But it would be so easy to reclaim some of what was his. To keep his title, to keep his reputation. To menace the world and show his power every day. And to have Peko by his side. For Peko not to die. For Peko…

For Peko.

“Peko, stop!”

With nothing less than betrayal shadowing her face, Peko obeyed. Mukuro landed one final blow on her defenseless chest and sent Peko flying into the dirt. But at a signal from her sister, Mukuro sheathed her sword and bowed, even moving toward Peko to offer her a hand up. Peko glared at the extended hand and rolled to her feet herself.

Fuyuhiko, however, took the perfectly manicured hand Junko offered him. A spark shot from her fingertip into his as she tugged him back to standing. “You were nothing, and now you belong to Despair. How’s that feel?”

_Peko must hate me,_ he thought, seeing her struggle to recover her sword and keep her dignity. In that moment he had taken everything she had left. Of course she hated him. He was the reason she had no family, no school, no future, and not even an honorable death. He had given up her love – the last thing he cared about having – to keep her alive.

  
The irony made him laugh, a deep, mad sound that dissipated in the wind across the waving grass.


End file.
